


Look to the Stars

by cresselia8themoon



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Oneshot, Pre-Canon, Spoilers for Whatever Happened to Della Duck, Unhatched Triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia8themoon/pseuds/cresselia8themoon
Summary: After Della’s disappearance, Donald’s emotions are running high, resulting in a sleepless night. How can he tell the eggs about their mom when he’s still so angry at her?





	Look to the Stars

_“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference where you are…”_

Donald slammed his hand on the radio, forcefully shutting off the ballad that had once comforted him as a duckling.

No wish would bring her back. Thanks to the fruitless efforts of Uncle Scrooge, Donald had quickly learned money and jewels were just as useless.

The night had become unbearable. In the day, Donald divided his time between caring for the eggs, researching job opportunities in Duckburg, and avoiding Uncle Scrooge. Granted, Uncle Scrooge spent an unhealthy amount of time in the office these days so it wasn’t really a hard accomplishment.

His thoughts were free to wander at night. Donald always tried to rein them in, but the worst case scenarios had an annoying tendency to spill out.

He knew his twin, thank you very much.

Della was too stubborn to die. She would challenge Death to a duel and claim his deadly scythe as a spoil of war if she could.

Taking the Spear of Selene when she had eggs to care for was a reckless and selfish decision, and Uncle Scrooge had only enabled and fueled her desire for adventure. Sure, their inability to reflect on their self-centered attitude had gotten them into plenty of scrapes, but there had never a life-changing consequence before. 

But now the eggs were motherless, Uncle Scrooge was nieceless, and Donald was sisterless. 

He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

Donald climbed out of his hammock and trudged over to the eggs, which were nestled in the massive four-poster bed. Carefully removing the soft blanket that laid over them, he ran his hand along one of the smooth white shells. 

Della had named the eggs. She used to spend hours brainstorming baby names. She had smiled and laughed when Donald and Uncle Scrooge questioned the stranger choices on her list. 

 _Strange names ran in the family,_  she claimed. _How else is the world gonna know how awesome and unique my boys are?_

She was right. Donald had never been sure if Uncle Scrooge had been named for his book counterpart or if the book counterpart had been named after him. 

Della had settled on their names a month before she disappeared. 

Hubert Duck, named for a general who bravely protected his troops from an ambush. 

Dewford Duck, named for an explorer of the treacherous oceans.

Llewelyn Duck, named for a Welsh warrior who fiercely defended his homeland from invaders. 

They would need everyday names. But that was a bridge Donald would cross when they hatched. 

He swaddled each egg in a blanket and moved them to the windowsill. He walked slowly and deliberately, taking care to watch his step so he didn’t drop another egg. 

Donald couldn’t help but smile in guilt at the memory of dropping an egg while Jose and Panchito cheered on his irresponsible behavior. For once, Della had been the one to scold him about safety. 

It was a clear night, one where moonlight streamed in through the window and bathed the room in a gentle silvery glow. A good night for stargazing. 

“The stars tell a story,” Donald told the eggs. It was something he’d heard from Selene as a teenager. Constellations came from myths and legends of old, great heroes and creatures were remembered for millennia. Navigators and explorers would use the stars to guide them through the perils of a strange world. “Well, most of them. Storkules has a constellation, but he had to muck out some really gross stables to earn it.”

Ursa Major and Ursa Minor were easily visible from the window, and Donald quickly tore his eyes away from them. 

At least there was one mother who could be with her offspring in the stars. 

“My sister…your mom…she was stupid and stubborn and she didn’t mean to leave you behind but she decided adventuring was more important and wound up abandoning you and now you’re here and I’m here and she’s elsewhere and she didn’t think this through like she never thinks anything through!” Donald half-choked, half-shouted, stomping his foot against the floor. 

The eggs trembled slightly from the sudden force. 

Donald rubbed his forehead and counted to ten, reminding himself to restrain his temper. Eggs were fragile. If he wasn’t careful, he would wind up hurting them in a destructive fit. 

Her eggs deserved someone patient and kind and not prone to violence when something went wrong. 

“Boys…I’m sorry I can’t give your mom back,” Donald whispered. “I’m mad at her, but you deserve to have some part of her with you. It’s not much, but…” 

He removed an acoustic guitar from the closet. It was slightly dusty from disuse, but it would do. He hadn’t played in so long. Those carefree days he’d spent in a garage with Jose and Panchito were a lifetime ago. 

He tuned the guitar, carefully maneuvering a string back into place. Then he went back to the windowsill, strumming out a scale to reacquaint his fingers with the instrument. 

“Your mom used to sing this to you. All the time,” Donald said, his fingers settling into a slow rhythm. “Della was reckless, but she loved you a lot. She thought you were lonely and bored in your shells. So she made this. She made up all kinds of songs.” 

He closed his eyes, the memory of watching Della sing her lullaby washing over him. He felt the loving embrace of the song, the tenderness of her eyes when she looked at her eggs. 

And he tried to replicate each little nuance of her voice in the thrums of his guitar. 

_Look to the stars, my darling baby boys._

Someday, they’d know the stories of the stars. They’d find out the truth. Donald wasn’t sure how he’d tell them, or if they’d ever discover the secrets of the Duck family, but they deserved to know their mother, and all the joy and sorrow that came with her. 

_Life is strange and vast, filled with wonders and joys._

Donald vowed to record every first step, every first word, every accomplishment in the boys’ childhood. If Della ever came home, he’d give them to her. 

_Face each new sun, with eyes clear and true._

He still needed a job, affordable housing, food, water, and clothing. Not to mention education, hobbies, and toys. He had to be strong for them. It was the least he could do. 

_Unafraid of the unknown, because I’ll face it all with you._

Donald had never been more afraid in his life. But he would be there. He would be happy when the boys were happy, sad when his boys were sad, angry if they disobeyed him. Uncle Scrooge and Della had relied on him before, though they had trouble admitting it. 

Could he still be a pillar for the boys, even when he was scared out of his wits? 

Donald’s fingers cramped soon after the song ended, and he put the guitar down. He moved the eggs back to the four-poster bed, tucking them under the covers once more. Within the shells, the ducklings slumbered, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in the outside world. 

A  muffled thud outside the door drew his attention just as he was climbing into his hammock. Grumbling, Donald threw the door open, ready to yell at whoever was disturbing him. 

Only to find Uncle Scrooge asleep on the plush red carpet. The old duck’s head was slumped against the wall, the rest of his body spread against the floor. He was awfully close to the doorframe. 

He must’ve been listening in, though Donald knew better than to bring it up. The old codger would just vehemently deny it and smack him in the tail with his cane if he tried.

Uncle Scrooge didn’t even have the decency to sleep in a good location. 

With a sigh, Donald placed his uncle’s limbs and head in a more comfortable position that would cause him less pain in the morning. Then he draped a spare blanket over Uncle Scrooge’s body. 

Once his work was done, Donald shut the door and headed back to his hammock. 

He watched the stars until he could no longer keep his eyes open. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written anything for Ducktales in a while. This episode gave me so many feels.


End file.
